


A Model of Professionalism

by WonderWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Model Stiles, Nude Modeling, Professor Derek Hale, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWolf/pseuds/WonderWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Hale is different, and not just because Stiles has a crush on him the size of Texas. Not only is he breathtakingly gorgeous with his sexy stubble and witty (and somewhat flirtatious) banter, but he makes an effort to talk to both the students and Stiles, making sure he is always comfortable. </p><p>He’s never modeled nude in one of Hale’s classes before, but he’s never declined a class taught by Professor Hale, no matter how short the notice, and probably never will.</p><p>(Or the one where Stiles is a talkative nude model and a bet is made)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Domik for betaing!
> 
>   I've been busy graduating from college and preparing for a new job/life, but greatly missed writing fics, so I decided to write a short little thing about a situation that happened to me when I used to be a nude model (I swear, I’ve probably worked the strangest variety of jobs).

It’s an unusually warm start to the fall semester when Stiles receives an email from Janet, head of the Art Department, asking if he’s free to model nude for Professor Hale in a few hours. It’s abnormally short notice for a 3 hour session, but he immediately replies saying he’ll be there, his heart starting to pick up pace at the idea.

Professor Hale has been Stiles’ favorite professor to work with since he started modeling at Beacon Hills University two years ago. Each professor was different, had a different way of teaching and working with the models. Some gave free reign to the models to do what they wanted (Stiles hated that), while others had a set list of specific moves they wanted to see (Stiles hated that too). 

His least favorite to work with was Professor Martin who, despite being absolutely gorgeous and intimidating with her high heels and bright red lips, never remembered to give him scheduled breaks and seemed less than impressed by his choice in poses every time he showed up. Thankfully, she seems to have stopped requesting him since his back spasmed during one of the ridiculous poses she instructed him into, causing him to lose his balance and knock into the hideous array of fruit baskets surrounding him. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience for either of them, to say the least.

But Professor Hale is different, and not just because Stiles has a crush on him the size of Texas. Not only is he breathtakingly gorgeous with his sexy stubble and witty (and somewhat flirtatious) banter, but he also makes an effort to talk to both the students and Stiles, making sure he is always comfortable. The atmosphere is always relaxed and pleasant, despite Hale’s intimidating presence. 

In the short amount of time that Stiles has modeled for him, he has quickly become addicted to being there, in the classroom, standing on the small stage with Hale’s beautiful light blue-green eyes and attention on him. He’s never modeled nude in one of Hale’s classes before— it had always been a clothed sculpting or portrait session, never anything requiring nudity. But he’s never declined a class taught by Professor Hale, no matter how short the notice, and probably never will.

Stiles heads back to his apartment to shower and gather the items he needs before heading over to the art building. He’s early, as usual, taking the opportunity to undress and enjoy the quiet. 

The room is a little stuffier than he likes, but removing the layer of clothes helps to cool him down quickly enough that he no longer notices. He slips on his robe, tying it loosely as he pushes his feet into his sandals. The art room floor is covered in a layer of dirt and charcoal; he learned on the first day that sandals were necessary if he didn’t want black feet by the end of the session.

The room is decorated with paintings, drawings, and sketches with a beautiful mix of colors that give life to the walls. He eyes the drawings of other models, easily recognizing Erica, another model, in a series of portraits. They’d been best friends since they had been stuck in the same Freshman Seminar class their first year. She was also the one who had introduced him to the world of modeling, forcing him to attend one of her (thankfully clothed) sessions for Greenberg’s Monday/Wednesday Painting Portraits class.

It was then that Stiles had fallen for the job, seeing the wonder in how every student saw the same model, but each drew something incredibly unique— choosing to focus or exaggerate certain features over others, or drawing in a style completely different from what the reality looks like. A student once drew him as if he were older, wrinkles and laugh lines etched into his face while another artist had drawn him with eyes that took over half his face, the veins prominent and disturbing, yet just as entrancing to look at. 

The magic in art is seeing himself portrayed by many different people, getting a momentary glimpse into how they perceive him. The portrait series on the wall shows Erica with a small smile, the grin increasing in every picture until the laughter had taken over, her eyes pinched closed and her hands grabbed at her stomach in obvious joy.

“It’s my favorite from that class,” a familiar voice says from behind him. Stiles turns and nods in greeting, letting his eyes sweep quickly over Professor Hale’s figure. He’s dressed in sleek black pants with his light purple shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The veins in his arms are prominent, hinting at the well-toned muscle the rest of the shirt hides away. It should be illegal to wear clothes when you’re that hot. Stiles’ mind shutters back to life once he realizes that Hale is still talking. “…student really captured her likeness, don’t you agree?”

Stiles nods again, eyes darting back to the painting. The student truly had done well; it could almost be mistaken for a photograph if it weren’t for the vibrant pastel colors used that emphasized Erica’s joy, almost making it tangible to the audience.

“The colors were a great choice,” Stiles agrees. “So, what kind of poses are you looking for today?”

Professor Hale looks surprised for a moment before his expression goes pinched, obviously confused by what Stiles has said. “You’re working with me today? I specifically requested Boyd for this class.”

There’s a momentary lapse into an awkward silence as Stiles takes in what Hale had said. Hale usually requests Stiles for all of his sessions, no matter what type of class it is. Had he done something to make Professor Hale not want to work with him? He frantically tries to remember what had happened the last time he modeled for Hale, but can’t remember anything going wrong. It had been a perfectly normal session like any other.

“Sorry, I— Janet sent me an email this morning asking if I was free to model. I’m guessing Boyd had to cancel last minute.” Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck, frowning as he adds, “I can leave if you don’t want me to take this session. I’m sure Janet can find a backup or…”

Hale pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling in visible frustration. It only makes Stiles feel worse, annoyance swirling thickly in his gut. He’s never seen Hale look so frustrated with him before and he has to resist the urge to ask what crawled up his ass and died. But that wouldn’t be professional, and Stiles is nothing but the model of professionalism. Truly. Sometimes.

“No, don’t. It’s not you, it’s just… Nothing.” Hale sighs and waves the thought away, choosing to start on a completely different note, “I swapped with Greenberg to teach his Human Anatomy class for the rest of the semester. The students are first year med students, so I’m going to have you do some 30 second poses, then we’ll slowly up it to one and then five minutes. I’m thinking we can do one fifteen minute pose before I’ll call for a break and then we can repeat the process. Sound good?”

The explanation is more perfunctory than usual, and Stiles narrows his eyes, as if the action could help him see what’s going on in Hale’s head to make him act so abnormally. 

“Got it. Thanks, Professor,” Stiles says, his voice forcibly bland and uninterested. That’s right, two could play that I’m-annoyed-at-you-but-passively-not-going-to-say-anything-about-it game. Hale’s thick eyebrows pull together as his captivating eyes snap up to meet Stiles’ brown ones. As if seeing through Stiles’ act, he rolls his eyes dramatically.

“For the love of— I’m not annoyed at you, Stiles. It’s just… Not what I was prepared for, okay? It’s fine.” Hale wanders over to the corner of the room, pulling his iPod out of his pocket and searching through the list. “Any requests for music?”

Stiles huffs, still a little put off by Hale’s initial reaction towards him. “Nah, you’re not annoyed at me, just disappointed. When were you going to tell me I wasn’t your favorite model?” He bats his eyelashes faux-innocently when Hale turns back towards him, a smirk on his perfectly carved face.

“I don’t play favorites with my models,” Hale states easily, connecting his iPod to the mini speakers resting on a painted stool. Gentle beats and an enticing melody filled the air, something Stiles could easily imagine playing in the background as he fucked Professor Hale, making his smirk slide off his face as breathy exhales matched the rhythm of the music. “Although I do appreciate how little Boyd talks during his sessions.”

“I don’t talk that much!” Stiles squawks indignantly. 

Hale shoots him a pointed glance. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but the key to modeling is to _not talk at all_.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, seeing that for the challenge it is. “Oh, yeah? Fine. I bet I can go through this whole session without talking.”

Hale grins at him wolfishly, sauntering forward and stopping only a few feet away. His eyes trail a blazing path up Stiles’ body, as if sizing up the competition. “Alright. It’s a bet.”

Stiles smirks back at him, fighting against the urge to close the short distance between them, but the moment is quickly broken by students beginning to filter their way into the classroom.

“What’s my prize when I win, _Professor_ Hale?” Stiles practically purrs in a low tone, his grin growing cheshire-like when Hale’s eyes instantly widen. Hale’s gaze momentarily drops to Stiles’ lips before glancing nervously around at the students coming in.

“I’m sure we can figure out something,” Hale says after clearing his throat, “ _when_ you lose.” He swiftly turns to focus his attention on setting up the lights and fans in the positions he wants as the students set up their easels.

Stiles is sure his grin looks goofy and smitten, but can’t seem to stop. He takes a sip of his nearby water bottle and moves to stand on top of the small stage, a surge of gratitude going through him when Hale turns one of the large fans towards him. The air feels like a blessing against his skin. He hadn’t realized how hot he’s gotten in such a short amount of time. Normally he’d blame it on being around Hale, but he’s almost certain that the air conditioning isn’t working in the room. Again.

It’s an unfortunate part of the job; many of the art studios lack a proper heating and cooling system, requiring additional fans or space heaters to be brought in by the professors. It’s frustrating and not the most comfortable environment to work in, but he’s gotten pretty used to it over the years.

As Professor Hale gives directions to the class, Stiles starts to peel off his robe, uncaring of the eyes that instantly turn his way. After taking his clothes off in classrooms full of students for two years, he’s gotten used to being the center of attention by now. Initially, he had agreed to do modeling when Erica said it’d helped her self-esteem. He wasn’t overly self-conscious or anything, but towards the end of his junior year, he’d had a bad breakup with a guy who’d said some things rather… damaging about his body. It wasn’t a good feeling and it had left him anxious about his body, made him think that it wasn’t good enough— wasn’t anything worth seeing.

Many of his friends didn’t understand his job, couldn’t comprehend why Stiles would want to get naked in front of people, to show off his body in front of strangers like that. But it was his way of regaining his confidence, his self-worth. Now, only a couple of years later, he’s standing in front of a group of new students, naked and confident again in his skin.

He turns to face half of the students, his arms cradled against his abdomen and chest as he curls slightly, allowing for a bend in his spine as the countdown for the first pose begins. Every thirty seconds, Hale’s timer goes off and Stiles adjusts angles, shifts his weight, changes position of his arms and legs. He focuses on the walls around him, occasionally glancing down to see the hastily drawn sketches on the nearby easels. 

Hale’s voice grounds him as he explains the muscles in Stiles’ body— how the muscles in his back adjust when he moves a certain way, how the shape of the spine differs with each position, on and on… As the poses start to get longer, Stiles begins to feel braver. He brings both of his arms up, resting them on his head and widening his stance as he lets his gaze drift over to where Hale is standing next to a student, his piercing crystal-like eyes boring into his. His eyes rove across Stiles’ body as it stands on display before him, his ears pinking as Stiles smirks knowingly down at him.

Hale’s eyes dart away from his figure and he makes his way over to the iPod. A few ominously familiar notes play and _oh, hell no_. The Beatles blast through the speakers, singing about a yellow submarine, and Stiles’ body stutters to a halt, his narrow eyes seeking Hale out like a target. Fucking asshole, he _knows_ how much Stiles hates the Beatles after Greenberg played them on repeat for three hours every. session. last semester. 

Hale grins back, striding towards the students as he calls out, “Everything alright, Stiles?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and bites his lip to remind himself to stay silent. He flips him the finger as he turns to the side and poses again, this time turning his back to the students. Hale suspiciously stutters over his words and Stiles grins to himself. He’d had his suspicions that Hale found him attractive, they’d certainly flirted enough in the past to evidence that, but it had never gone past that point of just flirting— an invisible line drawn between them.

As Stiles takes his first break, responding to texts from Scott on his phone while standing in front of the fan, forgoing putting on his robe again due to the heat. He glances up and sees Hale watching him, the professor’s gaze guiltily darting away the moment he’s caught. 

Perhaps it’s finally time to cross that line, Stiles thinks. He wipes absently at his forehead, noticing a small amount of sweat on his hand as he returns to the stage. He spreads his arms and resumes his shorter poses, watching in amusement as the students frantically (and somewhat angrily) try to draw as much of his body as possible in the tiny timeframe. 

“Greg, how many times do I have to tell you to stop focusing on the butt? This is an anatomy class and there are other parts of the anatomy other than the gluteus maximus.” Hale attempts to sound stern, although his lips twitch with a smile that he can’t quite hide. The student— Greg — simply grins, seemingly unashamed of being caught drawing butts.

“It’s a nice butt though,” Greg states. Stiles can feel his face tinting pink as he refocuses on the wall and bites his lip to keep from laughing. He isn’t sure if laughing counts towards the bet, but he definitely isn’t going to take that chance.

“Maybe so, but it won’t help you get through med school. Now start over and draw something else,” Hale says, moving on to the next student.

“Did you just give me permission to draw dicks in class, Professor?” Greg asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. Stiles’ face floods with warmth as he struggles to keep his face stoic and failing. Badly. But he’s still silent and that’s all that matters.

Professor Hale simply sighs and shakes his head.

The alarm goes off and Stiles swirls around, facing Greg dead-on. He winks playfully and moves his arms behind him— a more challenging pose for the students off to his side, but it allows Greg a clear view of his front. 

Greg laughs loudly, immediately putting his charcoal pencil to paper. “I like this model, Professor. Can we keep him for the semester?”

“We’ll see,” Hale says. “If he can stay quiet for the whole session, I might consider it.”

“But it’s more fun when they talk,” another student chimes in— Kira, Stiles thinks her name is.

“By all means, try to get him to talk.” Hale says. Students yell out questions and jokes as they draw, trying to get him to respond or laugh. It’s harder to stay quiet than Stiles expects, but he bites down on his lip and glares challengingly at Hale.

When Stiles reaches the five-minute poses, he starts to feel an unusual strain in his muscles. A bead of sweat drips down his arm that he absently hopes no one notices. His arms start to quake and his hands begin to feel cold and clammy. He brings them down, resting them against his body for the next pose in order to give them a break, figuring that they’re probably just tired. Usually posing like this isn’t a problem, but for some reason, he’s really working up a sweat today.

He focuses on the nearby wall, imagining what he could ask for when he wins. He could demand Hale make him the main model for the rest of his classes— enough money to pay half his rent. Or, he could use the opportunity to finally tell Hale about his crush, maybe demand that he go on a date with him as his prize. Would that be too forward? Too weird? What if Hale doesn’t feel the same and the date ends up being uncomfortable and long?

Out of nowhere, Stiles’ vision begins to swim, tilting and swaying despite him being fairly certain that he’s standing still. Professor Hale steps closer to the stage, pointing to Stiles’ stomach and making comments to the students, seemingly unaware of the wave of dizziness hitting his model. Stiles’ breaths speed up and he’s keenly aware that he’s in trouble. He reaches his arm out towards Hale, mumbling a pathetic, “Hale.” 

Hale— and the students— all swing their heads towards him, a variety of victorious grins upon their faces. But the smile quickly drops from Hale’s face when he sees Stiles’ expression. He’s sure he must be pale as a ghost or close to it to get Hale to look like that, but he forces an apologetic smile on his face and says shakily, “I’m not feeling very well. Can I sit for a sec?”

“Of course, are you okay?” Hale asks, concern visible on his face as he steps towards him.

Within seconds, and faster than Stiles can comprehend, his legs have given out and he’s lying on his side on the stage and _ugh,_ _that’s not sanitary at all._ His vision is being taken over by darkness and he shuts his eyes, focusing on rolling himself onto his back to get more comfortable.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Hale’s voice asks and Stiles feels large hands on his face, tilting his head towards the speaker. “Did you hit your head?”

“No,” Stiles mumbles, his mouth suddenly dry. When had that happened? How had all this happened so quickly? _What_ exactly happened? He’d been feeling fine and now… _Fuck_ , he lost the bet. That’s so not fair, he was going to win. The date. He was going to… Stiles groans and Hale quickly pulls his hands away.

“Kira, get water from the vending machine, please. Elise, bring the fan closer, ” Hale barks. Stiles isn’t sure how long it takes, but suddenly cool air is blowing against his heated skin and a water bottle is being pressed against his head and _oh, that feels amazing_. “I can’t believe this happened again. I’m going to write a formal complaint to the department. This is ridiculous.”

“Again?” Stiles parrots back, his eyes fluttering open once the wave of dizziness has passed. 

Hale’s frowning face appears from above. “You’re the second student to pass out this week, actually,” Hale says, folding up Stiles’ robe and gently placing it underneath Stiles’ head. “The A/C was removed from the room over the summer. It’s just too hot in here now and you probably weren’t drinking enough.”

“Sorry.” Stiles sighs, twisting off the cap of the water bottle and bringing it to his lips. It’s definitely refreshing, but he still feels too weak to sit up. He feels strangely vulnerable all of a sudden, lying down naked in front of the class. As if noticing this too, Professor Hale grabs a sheet nearby and drapes it over Stiles’ lap. “Thanks. I can pose again, just give me five minutes, okay?”

Professor Hale snorts, flicking Stiles’ in the side of the head, which isn’t fair at all— attacking a man while he’s down and naked. “No, we’re done for the day,” he says, his voice allowing for no argument. “I want 3 nude sketches for next class. Charcoal only. You’re all dismissed early,” Hale announces to his students, not moving from Stiles’ side as the class packs their stuff away. “And no drawings of butts, Greg!” 

Greg waves dismissively, shutting the classroom door behind him, leaving Stiles and Professor Hale alone in the room.

“Man, I’m so sorry,” Stiles groaned. “You probably really wish Boyd had shown up today instead of me.”

Hale hums consideringly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. After all, I did just win our bet.”

“That’s not fair at all, I was passing out! You can’t hold that against me,” Stiles argues, trying and failing to sit up. He huffs a laugh at how pathetically weak he is, but pushes his face into Hale’s thigh from where he’s sitting next to him. If he’s going to be stuck lying down, he might as well enjoy it. 

Hale’s hand drifts into Stiles’ brown hair and Stiles glances up, surprised to see Hale looking away. His fingers brush lightly through the strands as if it’s a subconscious action while he thinks.

“The bet was just about you talking, not _why_ you talked,” Hale replies, a soft smile on his face when he looks down at Stiles.

“But I had such a good idea for it,” Stiles huffs. “You’re probably going to waste it on something stupid.”

“Oh? What was your great idea?” Derek asks, a curious expression on his face.

Stiles freezes, debating on telling the truth or lying. But, at this point, what could it hurt? Hale probably won’t ask him to come back to model anyway after this— he’d fainted in the middle of the class, after all. That’s so unprofessional.

“I… was going to ask you on a date,” Stiles admits slowly, his heart thundering in his chest as he waits for Hale’s response. His stomach sinks when Hale immediately pulls his hand away, his beautiful blue-green eyes shifting uncomfortably away as well. 

Stiles gathers his strength and pushes himself up, pressing back against the wall behind them as he waits for Hale’s reply. It doesn’t take long.

“Stiles, that’s… not a good idea,” Hale says and Stiles pulls the sheet closer, trying to cover as much skin as possible.

“Oh. No, yeah. You’re probably right. I’ll just go,” Stiles grumbles, forcing himself to his feet and grabbing his robe as he stands. Professor Hale rises with him, hands outstretched as if prepared to catch him if he were to trip. 

“Stiles…” Professor Hale starts, his expression dim.

Swiftly, Stiles wraps his robe around himself, ignoring the tiny black spots in his vision as he grabs his bag. He tugs his proof-of-work-paper out and a pen, dropping both on a nearby table.

“Can you sign that so I can go?” Stiles asks, determinedly staring at the slip. He tries not to think about how this is probably the last session he’ll get to work with Professor Hale and he can’t even look him in the eye. Geez, why did he say anything? He should’ve just learned from the bet and kept his mouth shut.

Hale takes a slow step forward. “Stiles, it’s not…”

“Please.” Stiles sighs. “Please can you sign it? Today’s just… it’s been really bad for my ego, y’know? I’d like to go home and watch some explosions on TV, if you don’t mind. Regain my masculinity and all that.”

Hale’s frown goes even more pinched, but he signs the slip for payroll and hands it over. Stiles reaches forward to grab it, ready to growl in frustration when Hale doesn’t let go of it right away.

“It’s not you, alright? It’s…”

“Are you seriously giving me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ spiel? Oh my god, am I really that pathetic?” Stiles groans.

Hale shuts him up with a glare, snapping, “I can’t get involved with a student.”

Stiles freezes. Wait, what? Is that what’s holding Hale back? But…

“But I’m not—”

“I know you’re not technically one of my students,” Hale says, his hand grasping at his own hair. “I know that. But you’re still _a_ student, and I can’t… I _want_ to, but I _can’t_.” He looks at Stiles beseechingly, as if begging Stiles to understand.

“You don’t want to date me because I’m a student, not because you’re not interested?” Stiles asks, for clarification, shifting closer. Hale nods, looking back with a heated gaze— a mix of desire and defeat, as if he’s accepted his fate of being painfully close to something he can’t have. “And you were upset I was your model for today, because…”

Professor Hale huffs a mirthless laugh, obligingly finishing Stiles’ thought, “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to look away from you, because it wouldn’t be professional, because I want to _fuck_ you.” Hale murmurs, moving closer and stopping right before Stiles, their toes almost touching.

“Oh,” Stiles says dumbly, his mind racing. “But I’m not a student.”

Professor Hale blinks at him. “What?”

Stiles reaches for his phone, scrolling quickly through his emails until he finds the one he’s looking for and holds it out for Derek to see. “This is my graduation email. I graduated last year, but I haven’t found a full-time job yet that pays more than this one does.”

Professor Hale continues to stare back at him in surprise, obviously having had no clue that the school hires students _and_ alumni for modeling.

“So about that date…” Stiles continues, his nerves coming back. What if that was just an excuse? A way to let him down easy?

Professor Hale seems to blink back to life and he smirks, his eyes raking down Stiles’ body slowly and appreciatively. “You should call me Derek. If we’re going to be going out on a date.”

“I kinda prefer Professor Hale actually.” Stiles grins cheekily. “But I believe the date was my idea, so… have you decided on your prize yet?”

Professor Hale— Derek — dips forward, brushing his stubbled jaw teasingly against Stiles’ neck in a move that sent goosebumps down his body. He drags his lips against Stiles’ jaw, his hands cradling his face before bringing their lips together.

Stiles hums into the kiss, tilting his head and dragging his hands up Derek’s chest, feeling the sturdy muscles beneath the fabric. He can’t wait to see what’s underneath, has imagined it time and time again, but never enough to satisfy in the way that reality will.

“I think I can come up with something,” Derek says as he pulls back, his hands tugging confidently at the sash around Stiles’ waist. The robe falls free at the action, hitting the ground with a soft thump. Derek’s hands rub circles against his hips before moving lower to pull Stiles firmly against him, their lips meeting again in a gentle slide. Their kiss is slow and deep, filled with many weeks of built up frustration and feelings, and the hope of many more weeks to release it. 

And, despite the fact that Stiles lost the bet, he can’t help but feel like he still won.


	2. A Deal's A Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I had a few more ideas I wanted to add, I decided to add an extra chapter :) Anyway, here’s the porny second part. Please note the change in rating and added tags!

“What’s this?” Stiles asks, his tone confused as he looks down at the pamphlet Derek handed him.

Students start to filter out of the classroom, leaving their model and their professor behind.

Derek shifts slightly, unsure as to how Stiles will take his request. They’ve only been “dating” a month— if he could even call it that. To be honest, he isn’t sure what they are. They went out sometimes to a theater or restaurant, but most of their time is spent in Derek’s bedroom behind closed doors.

They’ve continued to work sessions together every week for Derek’s Human Anatomy class, but it almost seems as if nothing’s changed. Stiles doesn’t act any different, still flirting and joking as he poses, and Derek can’t help but wonder if there’s any substance behind his words. Or if there’s any real substance between them at all.

“It’s a favor for a friend. He needs models for a class he’s teaching this weekend; his studio is fairly new and he’s still struggling to get models who will pose for him,” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyebrow raises. “Nude or clothed?”

“Clothed.”

“How much?” Stiles asks. Derek winces and Stiles’ eyes narrow instantly. “How much, Derek?”

“Uh, free?” Derek says, hesitantly. 

Stiles huffs indignantly, smacking Derek’s arm with the pamphlet. “No wonder he’s unable to find models!”

“He can’t afford to pay ten dollars an hour, Stiles! It’s only one session for three hours. Please?” Derek asks beseechingly. Stiles frowns back at him, considering. “I’ll owe you,” Derek adds, his voice going low with promise.

Stiles’ eyes instantly snap to his in interest. “Oh? And what will I get out of this?”

“Whatever you want,” Derek promises, licking his suddenly dry lips. Stiles’ gaze drops to them,a smirk forming on his own.

“I think I can come up with something better than modeling in a dress,” Stiles says, his grin going sharp.

Derek simply hums in response, his mind drifting to the memory of Stiles’ pale skin adorned in a silky green dress as he stood on their small stage. 

“I don’t know, I quite enjoyed that.” Stiles’ smirk goes dirty as if knowing exactly how much Derek had enjoyed that sight— how many times he had jerked off at night at the memory. 

“Alright. I’ll do it,” Stiles says, stuffing the pamphlet in his bag. “But I’m holding you to that promise.”

“Anything you want,” Derek agrees, enjoying the way Stiles’ breaths pick up at his words.

“It’s a deal.”

 

\- - -  


Derek’s already standing on the stage in the large brightly-lit classroom when Stiles barges in, huffing as if he’d run the way there. The art students all turn their heads to look at the intrusion in silent, but palpable, judgement.

“Sorry I’m late,” Stiles says, still breathless.

Isaac, the instructor and Derek’s old roommate from college, grins from the front of the room. “You must be Stiles. Derek’s told me all about you. My name’s Isaac, I’ll be instructing the class today, and we’re ready to start when you are. I was just letting Derek know that we’re looking to have both of you in one long pose today.”

Stiles glances at Derek in surprise, as if only just noticing him standing there.

“I— Wait, what?” Stiles questions, his voice going high on the last word.

Isaac looks between them in confusion. “You’re working together today, is that going to be a problem?”

“Nope,” Stiles replies on a rush of air. “Not problem at all. Absolutely fine. I’ll just…” he drops his bag to the floor before he moves to Derek’s side. 

He’s wearing a tight t-shirt and well-fitting jeans to help show the outlines of his muscles. It’s an outfit chosen simply to give the artists an easier time while drawing him, but Derek can’t help but appreciate how sexy it looks on Stiles— showing off his lean figure, the jeans cupping his ass perfectly, and his v-neck t-shirt dipping tantalizingly low on his chest.

Derek pulls himself out of his reverie long enough to ask, “How do you want us?”

Isaac seems to contemplate his answer for a moment before saying, “I was thinking of having one of you sitting on the ground, leaning back while the other is resting between the knees. Is that okay?” 

“Sounds fine,” Derek answers.

“Have you even done this before?” Stiles whispers.

“I wasn’t always the professor teaching art classes, Stiles,” Derek murmurs, playfully, his grin faltering slightly as Stiles pulls back with a look of befuddlement. Something in his stomach sinks as he once again realizes that Stiles doesn’t really know much about him. They aren’t anything defined or substantial, and technically Stiles could lose interest in him any day.

He knows what he feels for Stiles is more than a crush, knew it the moment he had Stiles model two years ago in one of his classes. For Derek, Stiles is beautiful, confident, outspoken, and overwhelmingly different in a way that’s both captivating and refreshing. He wants this to last, wants a long term relationship and someone to come home to. But Stiles is young, only recently graduated, and doesn’t seem in any rush to define what he and Derek have between them. Derek, however, has been out of college for years now, has grown tired of fleeting relationships based on sex. 

He wants more.

Stiles shoots him a strange look before shifting closer to whisper against his ear, “I look forward to working with a seasoned professional such as yourself, _Professor_ _Hale_.”

A shudder runs through Derek before he can stop it, and Stiles pulls back with a look of pride. Maybe what they have is based on sex, Derek thinks, but he isn’t willing to throw it away without finding out if there’s a possibility for more. Not when Stiles can easily get such responses from him, can make him feel so untethered with just a few suggestive words.

Derek moves to sit on the floor, leaning back on his right hand to add a little twist in his figure. His knees open, one leg shifting to lie flat against the ground as Stiles crawls between them. Stiles places one arm on Derek’s chest, his other hand planted firmly on the ground. Derek’s left arm lifts, his hand cradling the back of Stiles’ head. It’s a more intimate pose than he’d expected with Stiles’ face only inches away from his own.

They have a few minutes of blessedly torturous silence between them before Stiles speaks.

“Your heart’s beating awfully fast, Professor,” Stiles whispers. “You gonna be able to hold this pose for forty-five minutes?”

“I think I can manage,” Derek replies, just as quietly.

His gaze shifts briefly, noticing a familiar bruise on the side of Stiles’ neck and vaguely remembers putting it there the night before. He brushes his thumb against it, pushing down slightly and huffing a gentle laugh when Stiles shudders, his eyelids drooping closed on a breathless groan.

Isaac clears his throat nearby, giving Derek a pointed look when he glances up, guiltily. His ears are burning as he resolutely looks at the ground, trying to focus on the background noise of Isaac teaching, the sounds of pencils against paper, and—

“You’re going to pay for that later,” Stiles murmurs, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at Derek’s mouth. “I’m already thinking about what I want from you, do you want to hear?”

Derek hums, flexing his fingers as they start to cramp under his weight.

“I’m thinking about me on my knees with your cock heavy on my tongue. I can still remember how you taste, how good it feels to be sucking your cock while you try to hold yourself still and not fuck my throat,” Stiles purrs, his thumb rubbing gently against Derek’s clothed nipple and _holy shit_.

Derek shifts slightly, his pants growing uncomfortably tighter. His dick is forcibly pinned down by the thick material of his jeans, a fact he’s both thankful for and incredibly unhappy about.

Stiles watches him like a hawk eyeing its prey, continuing to whisper filthily in the small amount of space between them. “I’d fuck you so good, Der, if you’d let me. I’d open you up slowly until you were begging for me to be inside you, to fuck you. I’d take my time, take you apart piece by piece like you deserve. You want that too, don’t you?”

Derek nods minutely, forcing his breathing to slow and refusing to look at Stiles when he knows it’d be too much. But, _fuck_ , he wants that. Wants to give Stiles that.

“You’d be so good for me, Der. Asking for more and I’d give you that, I’d give you whatever you wanted.”

Derek groans lowly, his arm starting quake with tiny tremors. The confinement of his cock is starting to become painful and he can feel himself leaking, his precum starting to make the front of his boxers uncomfortable wet.

“Fuck, Der. You really want it, don’t you?” Stiles’ pupils are blown wide as he takes in how wrecked Derek must look. Derek looks back, desperate for Stiles to be quiet or to be true to his word right then and there. Anything to stop the ache.

Stiles clears his throat, his eyes searching for Isaac towards the back. “Hey, Isaac, can we take an early break?”

“What? It’s only been fifteen minutes, I—” Isaac sputters.

“Thanks, man! We’ll be back in fifteen,” Stiles yells, grabbing Derek by the arm and leading him into the empty hallway.

“Seriously?” Derek asks, deadpan, when Stiles hastily shoves him into a vacant restroom.

“Are you really going to complain when I’m about to blow you?” Stiles snarks back, dropping to his knees and making quick work of Derek’s pants.

Derek moans as Stiles impatiently tugs down Derek’s briefs, getting his mouth— his plush, velvety soft mouth— around him. It’s a warm heat, pleasure zinging up Derek’s spine as he tightens his grip against Stiles’ hair.

Stiles makes a sound of pure approval, his hand rubbing down his stomach and thigh as his other is wrapped around Derek’s cock, pumping what Stiles’ mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek pants, his head tilting back against the bathroom wall.

Stiles briefly pulls away, ignoring Derek’s disapproving grunt, and brings a finger to his mouth, fellating it sloppily before returning his attention to worshipping Derek’s cock. His tongue runs down and across the tip of the head before his finger pushes against Derek’s hole.

His brain short circuits as the finger breaches the rim, expertly finding the small nub inside the send sparks flying through his body.

“There, right there,” Derek huffs, his eyes squeezed closed as his hips buck into Stiles’ mouth. Oh god, it is going to be over fast. It’s almost too much, Stiles’ wet heat around his dick and his finger rubbing against the spot that feels so, _so good_ —

He comes with a strangled noise as Stiles greedily swallows it down, smirking up at Derek when he misses some and it splatters against his cheek. Derek wipes the cum off with his thumb, licking it off and grinning when Stiles groans and pushes his body against Derek’s.

Stiles sags against him, exhaling roughly when Derek’s hand coaxes his dick out of his jeans, the head peaking out just above the waistband. His hips push forward into Derek’s hand, and he sighs as he’s rubbed roughly through the denim.

“Shit. You’re perfect, Der,” Stiles mumbles into his neck and Derek’s heart flutters at the praise, despite the part of his gut that refuses to settle without knowing how much of it Stiles means.

Stiles’ fingers clutch at the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck, his hips undulating faster until he’s pressed firmly against Derek’s leg, trapping his hand between them. He’s virtually humping Derek’s hand and leg and it’s just about the hottest thing Derek’s ever experienced.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek whispers, “I want you to come.” Obligingly, Stiles whimpers, his nails digging crescents into Derek’s neck as he comes between them, Derek’s hand catching most of the mess.

Stiles sags further against him, seemingly boneless with pleasure. “That was so good, so fucking good, oh my god.” Derek wraps his arm around his shoulder, nuzzling into Stiles’ soft brown hair, wanting to enjoy the moment, but needing to know—

“What are we?” Derek blurts, going rigid instantly. He wanted to know, wanted to ask, but not yet, not now. Not if there’s a chance he might not hear what he wants to hear. Not when they have to go back to being on stage, back to being torturously close together.

Stiles pulls back, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Derek sighs, wiping his clean hand down his face. He can’t take it back now, might as well continue. “What are we? Are we two people fooling around, or are we… in a relationship?”

“We’re dating,” Stiles answers slowly, as if Derek’s being deliberately obtuse. Derek growls in frustration.

“I know that, but is it just for fun? Do you see a future for us? Or is this just a college fling where you have a crush on a hot professor?”

“A college fling?” Stiles sputters, his expression growing more annoyed with each passing second. “Did you hit your head and forget that I am _not a college student anymore_?”

“I know that! But you keep calling me Professor Hale in a sexy voice,” Derek argues. “I can’t help but wonder if this is just a- a- college fling you never got to have as a student— I don’t know.”

“That’s because I think you’re sexy when you teach! Just _you_ ,” Stiles yells. “You’ve, like, got this soft, but stern professor thing going on when you teach and that combined with your sweaters and shit… It’s fucking sexy as hell, okay?”

Derek’s jaw snaps shut and his cheeks flood with heat. 

Stiles glares at him.

“So, you want this to go somewhere?” Derek asks, softly. Stiles nods. “As in, six months? A year?” Stiles doesn’t move a muscle, just seems to freeze in place, prompting Derek to ask, “Longer?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stiles laughs sharply, obviously without any real hint of humor behind it. “I’m so fucking gone on you, it’s ridiculous.”

“So you want—”

“I want forever, okay?” Stiles says, his hands tugging at his hair as he paces a few steps. “I fall asleep thinking about a large house with a white picket fence and a dog— the whole shebang. I want that. And it’s really, _really_ early to be saying that shit, so I totally get if I’ve freaked you out or whatever, but—”

Derek strides forward, gently grabbing Stiles’ face and pushing their mouths together, swallowing Stiles’ moan as they slowly back up into another wall. Derek presses loving kisses against his jaw, moving down to his neck where he nibbles at his earlier mark.

“I guess that didn’t freak you out then?” Stiles asks, breathless and with his eyes closed in pleasure, tilting his neck to offer more access.

“I want that too,” Derek murmurs against his throat. “Want that with you.” He pulls away to press their lips together again, grinning into the kiss when Stiles twists them around and pushes Derek back against a solid surface.

“So, boyfriends?” Stiles asks, his eyes fluttering open as he grins.

“Boyfriends,” Derek agrees, freezing when the restroom door suddenly swings wide. 

Isaac stands at the entrance, visibly pissed off as he takes in their disheveled appearance.

“Your break is over. Get your shit together and look presentable. You have two minutes,” Isaac snaps. “And for Pete’s sake, wash the cum off your face, Stiles.” 

He slams the door shut behind him, leaving Stiles and Derek flushed and embarrassed.

“I’m still gonna fuck you later. I’m calling in your debt,” Stiles says.

Derek grins. 

“A deal’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope the second part lived up to expectations!

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, when I fainted during my modeling session, I did not have a hot professor to enjoy the experience with. 
> 
> I am considering writing another piece to this, since I have some ideas floating around for it. I'll likely add it as a second chapter, should I decide to write it-- so if you're interested, maybe think about subscribing to this work or my profile.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. Let me know if you liked it with a comment or kudos; feedback is a great thing!


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